


Dance

by fantasticpandasfanfics



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasticpandasfanfics/pseuds/fantasticpandasfanfics
Summary: I have this headcanon that after the fall of Overwatch, Talon didn't have to hide in the shadows. They're still a terrorist organization, but the public fails to see this due to their anti-Overwatch stance.





	

“Lúcio, mate, it’s urgent.” Lena skidded into the room, rounding the corner in a huff, “I need you to teach me how to dance.” The young Brazilian sat on a couch in a tank top and jeans, looking up at Lena skeptically. He narrowed his eyes and pulled an ear cup off his head while leaning up from his relaxed position. Hana even broke concentration to look over her handheld gaming device at the out of breath Brit.

“Who you trying to impress?” A sly smile crossed his face as he cocked an eyebrow.

“I- since when does a lady have to explain why she wants to learn to dance?” Lena feigned an innocuous look, failing to convince either of her companions.

“You have two left feet and no rhythm, Trace. _You_ have to explain why you wanna dance.” 

“I…” she faltered, shifting her weight between her feet.

“Looks like Lena’s crushing on a dancer.” Hana teased, tapping Lúcio’s thigh with her foot. They smiled wicked grins at Lena, who shifted under their scrutiny.

“What’s her name?”

“Where’d you meet her?”

“Where are you taking her to dance?” They took turns berating Lena through giggles. She flushed slightly and snapped.

“Look, right, it’s not important who it is, I just need to learn, like, yesterday. Please, mate. This is important to me.” Lena’s pleading stopped their playful onslaught and Lúcio rose from the couch.

“What’re we talking, ballroom?” he sighed the question as Lena nodded.

“Yeah… And there’s a rub.”

“There always is.” he shook his head smiling. “So how much time do I have to teach, few hours?”

“Two actually,” Lena smiled sheepishly, “I mean that’s if I want to get showered, dressed, and get there in time…” She stared for a moment as she mentally planned her night.

“Great,” he responded dryly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He crossed the rec room and plugged his music into a set of speakers. Rummaging around his selection, he finally found something that eased from the speakers like water flowing across the floor. The piece had a great deal of strings and soft woodwinds. Lena smiled as he crossed the floor back to her and held out his hands. He paused, puzzled for a second. “Am I teaching you to lead?” Lena stopped, confused, and blinked a few times. Lúcio shook his head and answered his own question, “Of course I am, you wear a tux.”

–

After several toes being injured, a few heated arguments of positioning, and another round of berating from the newer Overwatch members, Lena finally had a grasp on the very basics of ballroom dancing. She rushed for a shower and dressed in a full black tuxedo, complete with black bowtie. Looking at herself in the mirror, she fidgeted with her iconic hair, then resolved to borrow a formal hat from Lúcio. A final look produced a proud nod from herself, glad that the outfit was thick enough to mask the glow of her accelerator. After a few wishes of good luck from her friends, she raced into the night, eager to make her date.

–

_How dull,_ Widowmaker thought to herself as she stood amongst the party members. Talon was hosting a fundraising gala and she was instructed to be “on her best behavior” as diplomats and businessmen alike gathered to support the growing organization. She stood tall in a light pink dress that hugged her hips and showed much more of her back than her usual attire. Her chest was much more modestly covered, although that wasn’t saying much compared to the dip of her catsuit. Her arms were bare, save for the straps that hung lazily on her shoulders. A long slit up her left thigh and flute of matching bubbling liquid completed her look. Her hair was loosely draped over one shoulder and she caught a number of diplomats whispering about her. Although her outfit was revealing, she kept a knife on her garter in case of an emergency. She considered creating an emergency just to relieve her boredom when the scolding she had received earlier echoed in her mind. Amber eyes glazed over the ballroom as men and women in formal attire chatted with one another about politics, sports, weather, anything considered appropriate small talk. Red faced laughter rang from the crowd occasionally, punctuating the full roar of socialization. She zeroed in on the source, spotting an older man, portly, balding gray hair, and drunk, sitting at a table with a slighter figure. They wore nearly identical outfits, a simple black tuxedo, except for the hat the smaller one wore. The man leaned in, seemingly prompting another story from the younger companion. He leaned back in his chair, letting loose another boisterous laugh, his nose turning redder than the wine he drank. Widowmaker slipped through the crowd, inching in on these two, something itching at her mind about the pair. As she closed in, the slighter of the pair turned to acknowledge her with a wicked grin. Widow froze, recognizing the hazel eyes that lacked their normal orange tint. Her lip curled and bile gathered in her throat as she struggled to retain her composure.

“Good Lord she’s blue.” The man startled, stating the obvious as the wine loosened his tongue.

“Aye, she’s Talon’s most talented assassin. They slowed her heart rate to keep her from getting distracted by silly things like breathing.” Lena smiled and leaned back in her chair, getting a full look of the woman.

_At least the foolish girl had enough sense to disguise herself,_ she took note of the hat and subdued accent as she resisted snapping her champagne glass. Widow reminded herself to nod, accepting the compliment as it was. The diplomat looked her up and down with no subtlety whatsoever and turned to Lena once more.

“Wonder what else about her is slow, eh?” He threw his head back and laughed again.

“Not much.” Lena’s low reply prompted the man to look between the women, recognizing the heated stare. He smiled, rounding out his red cheeks into two firm tomatoes.

“Oh, do you two,” he cleared his throat, “have some history together?” His tone was full of suggestion.

“You could say that.” Lena cracked half a smile and turned to the man, winking. He laughed again, banging on the table causing cutlery to clang in tune. He started into a coughing fit as Widow approached Lena, curling fingers under her arm.

“May I have a word?” Her tone came out calm, but Lena could see the anger in her eyes and her teeth gritting against the words.

“Looks like someone’s in trouble.” The diplomat laughed again, pulling a handkerchief from his chest pocket to catch this round of coughs.

“That’s exactly where I like to be, love.” Lena winked at the man as she rose from her chair, aided by Widow’s firm grip. She would have bruises there later, but she marked it as worth it. The pair escorted each other to a side hallway where Tracer was thrown against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Widowmaker growled the question, pressing her forearm to the smaller girl’s throat.

“Ah, ah, love. Wouldn’t want it to rain on your party, yeah?” Widow looked to see two of Tracer’s fingers hooked under a fire alarm. She cursed herself for being blinded by rage and missing the lever. She had been walked into a trap and it infuriated her. Grinding her teeth together, she loosened her grip. Her nose flared as she considered her options.

“The question still stands.” Crossing her arms, she glared at the smug woman now squirming in front her.

“Just looking to have a little fun. Figured you’d be bored without me.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Plus, learning exactly who funds the terrorist organization that vows to take down your very way of life and crush your friends and family along the way, doesn’t hurt either.” Her smug smile grew as Widow shook her head.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can’t do it in a room full of the blokes that sign your boss’s paycheck though.” Widowmaker scanned the room, relinquishing that point to Tracer. “So… I was thinking. Maybe. Since you’re going to have to keep a close watch on me anyway…” Widow looked over Lena, noting the strange change in her demeanor. She looked nervous, fiddling with the cuffs of her jacket. “Maybe you wanted to dance? Instead of sitting around bored all night.” She added the last part in a quick huff as a last ditch effort of persuasion. Widowmaker blinked.

“You snuck into the gala to ask me to dance.” It was supposed to be a question, but it came out accusatory.

“Yeah. Well I mean. To gather information, of course. But, while we’re stuck…” She nodded through the rest of her rebuttal, letting the end trail with a shrug, now unsure of her argument.

“Do you even know how to dance?” Her condescending look and tone lit a fire in Lena’s eyes.

“'Course I know!” Then thinking about her disastrous lesson with Lúcio earlier in the day, she added, “I know the basics.” Widowmaker’s subtle chuckle rolled with her shaking head.

“Fine. We dance, and then when the politicians have left, I’ll sink my knife into your pretty little throat.” The threat was lost on Lena in her elation of Widow’s consent. Tracer snatched Widow’s hand and drug her to the dance floor, finding the crowd easy to navigate as they moved to avoid the assassin. They met face to face and Lena’s confidence faltered again as she took her position. Placing a hand on Widow’s hip and holding the other, she started to move stiffly, recalling what Lúcio had taught her. She stared at their feet, determined not to step on the petite tie up shoes the taller woman wore. She felt a finger under her chin as Widow brought her face into focus.

“Eye contact, cherié. Most important part.” Lena scowled, trying to look down at their feet again. A firmer grasp ripped her chin back up. “Trust your feet, like the dance we do when you’re trying to kill me. You must make it look convincing.” Widow reveled in the anger she could feel radiating off Tracer. Although she was opposed to being so close to her enemy, she had to admit that this was much more fun than she had been having moments before. On top of that, watching the cocky little Brit’s confidence fail was delicious.

“Don’t really even know why people bother doin’ this.” She muttered, quickly realizing how much of a fool she was starting to make of herself. Widowmaker looked out at the crowd and spotted a hollow set of eyes peering down at her and her dance partner. She could almost hear the growl as the cloaked figure stared.

“Follow my lead.” Widow whispered closely to Lena’s ear, causing her to stand up straight and snap to attention. They started to glide across the dance floor with the grace of a former champion. Lena struggled to keep pace with the taller woman who clearly knew what she was doing. Any time Lena stumbled, Widow would lead into a dip, making the pair look effortless. They flew across the floor and Lena started to smile. Trailing behind the woman started to remind her of being in the skies. Every twirl and step brought her higher until she swore she was in the clouds again. She leaned her head back and laughed, nearly losing her hat. The song ended and they stood, shifting weight from foot to foot as the crowd started to applaud. Lena looked around, a small blush sneaking along her cheeks and Widow’s eyes darted to the balcony. The looming Reaper was gone, apparently satiated by the show. She looked back to Lena, who had a firm grip on her left forearm and right elbow. Lena found herself out of breath, either from the dance or the eye contact, she wasn’t sure. Something ached in the back of Widow’s head and she released the smaller girl.

“Go home.” Widowmaker’s blunt tone was surprising.

“Thought you wanted to plunge your knife into my pretty little neck.” Lena teased, her hat as cock-eyed as her smile. Widow’s molten glare extinguished some of the light in Lena’s eyes.

“I’ve decided to spare you. Next time you will not be so lucky, foolish girl.” She spat the words as she massaged her throbbing temple.

“I’ll take it.” Standing on her tiptoes, she left a chaste peck on Widow’s cheek. “Until next time, love.” She winked and made her way towards the door, disappearing in the crowd. Widow rubbed her forearm and felt colder than ever in the wake of the brand left on her cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 
> 
> I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.


End file.
